


And Be Merry

by scouringsandstone



Category: Father Brown (2013)
Genre: Affectionate Insults, Christmas, Domestic Fluff, Drinking, Eating, Food, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Near Future, Sickfic, Stomach Ache, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:40:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27865510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scouringsandstone/pseuds/scouringsandstone
Summary: Sid overdoes it at Christmas; Sullivan is about as sympathetic as can be expected.
Relationships: Sid Carter/Inspector Sullivan
Kudos: 19





	And Be Merry

A dull thud wakes him. 

Sullivan cracks open an eye to find the room illuminated by the bedside lamp, and Sid stumbling around, trying to kick off his boots.

"Sid?" he asks, voice rough with sleep. 

"Yeah, don't worry, I'm not a burglar."

"I should hope not. You're making enough noise to wake the dead."

"Sorry."

Sullivan rolls over onto his side, scrubbing at his face with his hand. "What time is it?"

A quick glance at the clock and Sid says, "Nearly midnight."

"What're you doing back so late?"

"Goodfellow and his missus came round after the Queen's speech. I wanted to stay and see everyone."

Sid was only supposed to be going over to St. Mary's for a few hours to drop off the presents. He'd promised to be back after dinner. Sullivan had been hoping they'd get to enjoy a quiet evening in the holiday cottage once Sid returned, but when there was no sign of him by nine o'clock, Sullivan had gone for a lie down, and must have fallen asleep.

Still, he can't begrudge Sid a little extra time with the people who are essentially his family. That was the purpose of their trip, after all. A whistle-stop tour of Kembleford so that Sid could call in on everybody, then home to London in time for Sullivan to be back at work Monday morning.

Now though, he is beginning to have his doubts about whether that's all Sid's been up to...

By the low light of the lamp, Sullivan watches him struggle out of his trousers.

"Have you been down The Red Lion?" he asks after Sid has taken far too long faffing around with the buttons. 

"What? No," says Sid, affronted. "It isn't even open. Spent all night at the presbytery, if you must know."

"Drinking?"

"No! Well, I mean, I had a few sherries... It is Christmas."

"Then would you mind explaining why is it you can hardly stand up?"

Sid turns to face him, wincing. "You'd struggle to stand up, too, with three plates of Christmas dinner inside you."

"Three?" Sullivan asks, incredulous. 

"Mm, and Christmas pud."

"It's a wonder you were able to walk back at all."

"Well, it was touch and go there for a bit..."

The mattress dips where Sid settles beside him, gingerly lowering himself until he's lying down, and Sullivan props himself up on one elbow to examine him. Sid really wasn't exaggerating. There is a distinct curve to his stomach, and red marks across his skin where his waistband has been digging in.

"Too much?" Sullivan asks.

"Yeah..."

"I told you not to overdo it."

"I know."

"Honestly, Carter, you've no self-control."

Sid pouts, looking sorry for himself. "And you've got no sympathy."

"You're right," says Sullivan. "None at all when it's self-inflicted."

"Blame Mrs. M. She's the one who kept plying me with mince pies all night..."

"Oh, and I'm sure you tried to refuse."

"Well," says Sid, "I wasn't gonna be rude, was I? She worries about me. Always tries to feed me up when I come back to visit. She says no one's looking after me in London and I'm just skin and bone."

"Then she must need her eyes testing."

"Oi!" Sid delivers a swift swat to Sullivan's chest, then falls back, groaning and clutching his stomach. 

"What's the matter?"

"Shouldn't have moved so suddenly..."

For the first time in their conversation, Sullivan feels a pang of concern. He watches Sid hike his vest up higher on his ribs, giving himself a tentative rub.

"You really are in a bad way, aren't you?"

When Sid just grimaces and nods his head without his usual theatrics, Sullivan's concern deepens. 

"Move," he says, reaching across and slapping Sid's hand out of the way.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"Let me." Sullivan replaces Sid's hand with his own, smoothing his palm over Sid's skin. Gentle, cautious. 

Sid moans. 

"All right?" Sullivan asks.

"Yeah, just go easy."

"Feeling a bit delicate?"

"Mm."

"I don't wonder." As his eyes adjust, Sullivan realises Sid really does look a bit green about the gills. "You're not going to be ill, are you?"

Sid glances at him, sheepish. "Just don't get in the way if I have to make a run for the khazi..."

"Sidney Carter, if you're sick in this bed, you'll be banished to the other room and I'll never take you anywhere again."

"Ugh, don't."

"I'm serious."

"So am I. Stop talking, you're making it worse," Sid says through gritted teeth, and Sullivan finally falls silent. 

As much as he enjoys teasing Sid, the last thing Sullivan wants is to leave him feeling genuinely unwell. He edges closer instead, resting his head on Sid's pillow beside him, kissing his shoulder, and rubbing small circles over his stomach by way of an apology.

Trust Sid to get himself into this state. Trust Sid to scupper any plans Sullivan had for their time together, too. It isn't often they get a holiday, and it might have been exciting in a strange cottage, in a strange bed... 

He listens to the soundtrack of Sid's breathing as he continues his ministrations; soft sighs and moans as Sid starts to relax under him.

"Feeling any better?" Sullivan murmurs after a few minutes have passed. 

"Yeah, a bit." 

"Good."

"It's quite nice, actually. No one's done this for me since I was a kid." 

"That's because you're supposed to know better than to eat yourself into a stupour once you're an adult."

"Easy for you to say. You haven't tasted Mrs. M's cooking..."

"No, I haven't."

A long pause, and then Sid says, "You should come with me. Next year..."

"To the presbytery?"

"Yeah..."

"I hardly think they'd want me there."

"Why not?"

"Well, they're not my people, are they?"

"They've known you for years!"

"Yes, but we're not friends. And anyway, how would we explain it?"

"What, us, you mean?"

"Mm."

"I dunno..." Sid sighs, sinking deeper into the pillow. "Say we bumped into each other in London and kept in touch?"

It's half true. They had bumped into each other in London, but since then they've done a little more than stay in touch...

Sullivan's brow furrows. "Father Brown would see through it in an instant."

"Yeah, but no one else would, and he wouldn't care."

"He wouldn't care that the man he regards as his son is living in sin with me in a flat in the city?"

"Nope."

"Really, I think it'd be safer all round if I stayed out of the way."

"You could keep an eye on me, if you came along though. Make sure I don't do this again."

"Fine," Sullivan concedes, if only to bring about an end to the discussion. "Next year, I'll consider it."

"Good. Here, this side's hurting more now," says Sid, guiding Sullivan's hand across his stomach and pressing it to the spot where he wants it. 

With feigned irritation, Sullivan says, "What do you think I am, Carter, your servant?"

"I wouldn't say you were my _servant_ exactly..." Sid purses his lips, pretending to consider the question. "More like my nurse."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you? Having me at your beck and call, making a fuss of you."

"Oh, I'd like you playing nurse for all _sorts_ of reasons..."

Sullivan smiles. Evidently his patient's condition has improved. 

He leans in closer still, pressing his lips to Sid's ear, and whispering in a low voice that he usually reserves for getting Sid worked up: "Then it's a pity you're in no fit state to move, otherwise I could have..."

Sid lets out a pathetic little groan. "Don't be cruel."

"Why not? It serves you right for spoiling my plans for us."

"You know there's a word for men who enjoy dishing out that sort of punishment, don't you?"

"And a word for men who enjoy receiving it," Sullivan says without missing a beat. 

Unable to hold back a laugh, Sid turns his head to the side, burying his face in Sullivan's neck. "Don't make me laugh, it hurts."

"Then try to get some sleep," Sullivan tells him, moving his arm across, arranging it carefully so as to avoid putting too much pressure on Sid's abdomen while he holds him. "Give your stomach chance to settle."

They lie together in silence for a while, Sullivan idly tracing patterns across Sid's side with his fingertips. 

"Sullivan?" Sid begins at length, perfectly still against him. 

"Mm?"

"Did you really have plans for us tonight?" 

"I just thought it might be nice to get an evening to ourselves while we were away."

"It would," Sid mumbles, sounding tired. "Sorry I spoilt it."

"Don't be. There'll be other times. I'm glad you got to see everyone."

"Tell you what - if I live through the night, I'll make it up to you in the morning."

" _If_ you live through the night?"

"Yeah."

"I don't think I've ever come across a case of someone dying from a stomach ache before..."

"There you go then," Sid says, as if it's decided. "You're on a promise."

Sullivan gives him a long-suffering sigh. "Go to sleep, you idiot."

"Yeah, okay..."

And for once, Sid does as he's told. 


End file.
